Nicolas jogged at a steady pace.He didn't mind the small bumps in the dirt path or the puddles that had survived yesterday's rain. The trail bordered an extensive green area on the outskirts of the city, near the lake, where the traffic noise vanished, and only the wind and his own footsteps remained.
He absentmindedly hummed a song that didn't exist yet. He did it without thinking, with a faint, calm smile.He was in a good mood.
Above him, the sky stretched clear, with only a few high clouds slowly drifting. The sun was beginning to rise strongly, promising a hot but pleasant day. It was, without exaggeration, a perfect day to run.
Several days had passed since Nicolas had returned to being fourteen.He had begun training with discipline from the first day. With quiet consistency. His routine was simple but demanding: strength exercises at dawn, running in the morning, stretches, and mobility work at night.
Nothing extreme. Nor specialized exercises; he was far from ready to handle them, and they wouldn't yet be necessary. Obviously, the most important training happened on weekends when he could drive.
His mother couldn't afford the expense of more training days, and there were still two weeks until the next rounds of competitions that would run all summer.
The most surprising thing about being back in a teenager's body wasn't seeing himself younger, but how good he felt.His breathing was clean. His chest didn't burn. There were no tremors in his hands, no constant anxiety that had accompanied him since opening his eyes. His head was clear. His body responded.
The thought hit him suddenly, and he almost stopped—only a few days had passed, and his mind had been busy with other things, so he hadn't noticed how amazing it felt despite being weaker and slower.
He had fallen deeply into drinking and carried its problems for years. He had gone through rehab and court-ordered programs. But he had never been able to quit—until now. Now that he had returned, he didn't even want to see it.
"Never again," he muttered under his breath.
Never again a drink "to relax." Never again a lost night that turned into weeks. Never again using alcohol to mask fear.
If this life was going to be different, it had to start there.
He continued running.The movement became almost meditative. The steady rhythm allowed him to think without noise, to organize ideas, to think without anxiety or anguish. The system, the race, the future… everything was there, but it didn't pressure him. He still had time to deal with each thing.
For the first time in years, Nicolas felt like he had time.
When he finally slowed and stopped near home, sweat cooled on his skin in the gentle midday breeze. He leaned slightly, resting his hands on his knees, breathing deeply.
Then it happened.A dry, clear sound echoed in his head.
Ding.
Nicolas closed his eyes for a second, trying to calm his excitement and catch his breath—he had improved again.
He entered the house, took a quick shower, and lingered under the hot water for a few moments, letting the fatigue wash away with the drops. Nicolas's house was a typical American home: four bedrooms, a living room, a dining room, two floors, and a large yard. Descending the stairs, he found his mother in the kitchen and his sister in the dining room.
Nicolas noticed it as soon as he crossed the door. His mother had made one of the "You're doing great" cakes—a tradition, so the house also had to feel perfect for the occasion. Shoes lined up. The table is clean. The kind of order his mother liked.
"Fourth place," she announced with a teasing smile. "That doesn't sound like much of an achievement for a cake."
Ethan gave her a warning glance.
"Ari.""What?" she shrugged. "Just saying."
Nicolas smiled. His sister had been the first to give in to him, and although her jokes had bothered him before, silence was much worse.
"Alright," he said. "She's right."
That made the three of them fall silent.
His mother was the first to react. She served the food with steady movements, as if that simple gesture could restore some balance to the world.
"Fourth place isn't bad," she finally said. "Not everyone wins all the time."
"I know," Nicolas replied with a smile. "Thanks."
"It was your first competition, and you had never practiced on that track before," Ethan interjected. "You would have won them easily with a bit more experience."
"I'll be the best, Ethan. I can't settle for that."
His family didn't know that he wasn't speaking to a child right now, and he understood that, but it only made it worse. Even with his years of experience, he had lost to kids in a competition.
They ate in silence for a few minutes. The sound of cutlery against plates filled the spaces no one seemed willing to occupy with words. Nicolas observed his family with an attention as if he were about to wake up and realize it had all been a dream. The way his mother paused for a second before sitting. Ethan ate quickly, as if always in a hurry because of university projects. The way Ariana tapped her foot under the table, unable to stay still.
He remembered another table. Another night when he had failed them, and how he felt everyone was against him. Shouts. Accusations. Money. Poor decisions.
He had been there. In the center.
He clenched his fingers against the edge of the plate.
"Mom has classes early tomorrow," she said. "Don't stay up late, Nico.""I won't," Nicolas replied with a smile, heading upstairs. Tonight would be another night of studying.